Methinks I see a host of craft spreading their sails a-lee
As down the Humber they do glide all bound for the Northern Sea.
Methinks I see on each small craft a crew with hearts so brave
Going out to earn their daily bread upon the restless wave.

Chorus:
And it's three score and ten boys and men were lost from Grimsby town.
From Yarmouth down to Scarborough many hundreds more were drowned.
Our herring craft, our trawlers, our fishing smacks as well,
They long did fight that bitter night and battled with the swell.

Methinks I see them yet again as they leave the land behind
Casting their nets into the sea, the fishing shoals to find.
Methinks I see them yet again and all on board's all right,
With the sails close reefed and the decks cleared up and the sidelights burning bright.

October's night left such a sight, was never seen before:
There was masts and spars and broken yards came floating to the shore.
There was many a heart of sorrow, there was many a heart so brave.
There was many a hearty fisher lad did find a watery grave.

Now coil up your nonsense 'bout England's great Navy,
And take in your slack about oak-hearted Tars;
For frigates as stout, and as gallant crews have we,
Or how came her Macedon deck'd with our stars?
Yes- how came her Guerriere, her Peacock, and Java,
All sent broken ribb'd to Old Davy of late?
How came it? why, split me! than Britons we're braver,
And that shall they feel it whenever we meet.

Then charge the can cheerily;
Send it round merrily;
Here's to our country and captains commanding;
To all who inherit
Of Lawrence the spirit,
"Disdaining to strike while a stick is left standing."

Now, if unawares, we should run (a fresh gale in)
Close in with a squadron, we'd laugh at 'em all;
We'd tip master Bull such a sample of sailing,
As should cause him to fret like a pig in a squall;
We'd show the vain boaster of numbers superior,
Though he and his slaves at the notion may sneer,
In skill, as in courage, to us they're inferior;
For the longer they chase us the less we've to fear.

But should a Razee be espied ahead nearly;
To fetch her we'd crowd ev'ry stitch we could make;
Down chests and up hammock would heave away cheerily,
And ready for action would be in a shake;
For her swaggering cut, though, and metal not caring,
Till up with her close should our fire be withheld;
Then pour'd in so hot that her mangled crew, fearing
A trip to the bottom, should speedily yield.

Britannia, although she beleaguers our coast now,
The dread of our wives and our sweethearts as well,
Of ruling the waves has less reason to boast now,
As Dacres, and Carden, and Whinyates can tell:
Enroll'd in our annals live Hull and Decatur,
Jones, Lawrence, and Bainbridge, Columbia's pride;
The pride of our Navy, which sooner or later,
Shall on the wide ocean triumphantly ride.

I'll sing me a song of the rolling sky,
To the land that's beyond the Main,
To the ebb-tide bell or the salt pork meal,
That I'll never taste me again.
There's many a night I've lied me down,
To hear the teak baulks cry,
To a melody sweet with a shanty-man beat
As the stars went swimming by

Don't ask me where I've damn well bin,
Don't ask me what I did,
For every thumb's a marline-spike,
And every finger's a fid.

I mind the times as we were becalmed,
With never a breath for the sheet,
With a red sun so hot that the water would rot,
And the decking would blister your feet.
And then there's the times, as we rounded the Horn,
With a cargo of silk for Cadiz,
The swell roll was so high it were lashing the sky
Till the whole ruddy world were a fizz!

(Chorus)

Be it spices from Java or copra from Yap,
Or a bosun so free with the lash,
It were "Up with the anchor!" and "Run out the spanker!"
And "Damn it, move faster than that!"
I've loved proud women from Spain's lusty land,
And I've seen where the Arab girl sleeps,
And the black girls as well, though they're fiery as hell,
Have all kissed me when silver was cheap.

(Chorus)

Lord, how the man's changed from the young cabin boy
To the old man that sits on this bench!
Now he's too old to fight or to stay out all night
In the company of some pretty wench.
Just an old clipper man who's long past his best years,
He knows that he'll never be free
From the smell of the tar that once braided his hair,
From the salty old tang of the sea.

(Chorus)